XLVIII
by sapphireswimming
Summary: The Super Bowl means tradition: watching the commercials, eating chips and salsa with Sam and Tucker, chatting with the fruit loop…


**Guys. I do not even know what I am doing. I don't even like football? But I guess I just made this a trilogy following _Green and Gold_ and _Revenge is Sweet_.**

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**XLVIII**

February 3, 2014

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Danny's cell phone vibrated on the coffee table and he grabbed it up with a single swipe of his hand. Without bothering to check the caller ID, he flipped it open and nestled it under his chin so that he would still have both hands free to collect his half time snacks.

"Hey," he said.

"Daniel," came the voice from the other end.

To his credit, Danny didn't even bat an eyelash. Instead, his eyes flickered over at the screen for a moment to make sure that play had not yet resumed before he waved away the concerned glances of Sam and Tucker and then settled down into the couch cushions more comfortably.

"So," he began.

"So," Vlad replied.

"You seeing this?" Danny asked before grabbing a chip and scooping up a mouthful of salsa that Tucker had gotten at the store (one year Sam had tried to make some herself. She bought all of the organic tomatoes and everything before realizing that the touch of the Fenton kitchen contaminated everything inside it and eventually deciding that the glowing and oozing up and out of the sides of the bowl wasn't worth the effort or trying to make the salsa a little more earth friendly and should never be attempted again).

"I am indeed. If, in fact, you are referring to the mess taking place on my screen at this very moment. Charading as The Great American Game."

Danny chuckled. "Well, if you think that live concerts are The Great American Game, then man, I have got to ask what you have against Bruno Mars and the Red Hot Chili Peppers."

"My dear boy," Vlad corrected, "I know that some things are hard for you to grasp what with your frequent absences from the educational establishment of your fine town, but no, I was expecting you to understand that I was talking about the actual game."

"Naw," Danny stretched out his arms. "I figured that's what you meant. This is crazy, though, huh? First half was rough. I mean, what, safety in like the opening play and now they're up ten points?"

"Fourteen."

"Exactly. And the most that any team has come from behind in the Super Bowl is by ten."

"That's not taking into account the fact that Peyton Manning came back from twenty four last season, of course."

Danny snorted. "You only know that because of the commentators. So, who are you actually rooting for?" he asked, grabbing another chip.

"The Packers, obviously."

"Uh…" Danny paused mid-chew. "You do realize that it's the Broncos and the Seahawks, right? Green Bay isn't playing?"

"Of course I realize that, Daniel. You sound like you believe that I'm actually an idiot."

"Well, given the number of failed attempts you've made to do anything vaguely evil and competent since we've known each other, I'd have to say that yeah, you tend a bit toward that side," he pointed out.

"And given the number of scrapes you have gotten yourself into and only managed to escape via sheer dumb luck, I'd say I was not alone in that," Vlad retorted.

"Point taken," Danny graciously conceded. "But seriously, though, fruitloop, who are you rooting for?"

"At this point in the game, the Seahawks."

"Wait, what to you mean 'at this point in the game?' You can't just switch allegiances willy nilly."

"Why not, pray tell, when neither side is my team?"

"Dude, you still don't own the Packers. And you just… can't. You pick a team and you hope that they win and you cheer them on and that's how you do it."

Danny could practically hear the eyebrow go up. "If I actually don't care one way or the other, I might as well be rooting for the team that will win."

"But then you might as well not root for anyone until the last minute of the game!"

"Yes…?"

"But that's so lame! What's the fun in that?"

"You win every time."

"But it doesn't mean anything if you haven't actually been cheering them on from the beginning. And what do you do the entire game?"

"Appreciate good plays wherever they come from. And, little badger, it's not as if I were going to start hopping up and down actually screaming at touchdowns and generally making a fool of myself even if I was rooting for a team from the kick off.."

"You live alone. Who would you be embarrassed by? Your cat?"

"I doubt she would appreciate being trampled underfoot."

"You do have a cat?!" Danny exclaimed, bolting upright on the couch.

"Fine, I am rooting for the Seahawks. And you, I suppose, are hoping the underdogs pull through?"

"I was trying not to start a civil war over here by siding with Sam or Tucker but yeah. Since you take the Seahawks, I'll go with the Broncos. Peyton Manning's a good guy. Maybe they will pull through. Who knows?"

"How predictable. And naïve."

"Probably," Danny agreed. "But stranger things have happened."

"Yes, well here we go for round two and things aren't looking too good for you right… what? What?!"

Danny jumped up off of the couch along with Sam and Tucker to stare at the screen in disbelief.

"What? Holy cow! No. No way!" he yelled into the mouthpiece of the phone, heedless of how close the ear on the other end was to the speaker.

"Ha! Ha! Ha! Take that, Daniel, the game is over."

"Not yet, it isn't!" he retorted when he finally found his voice again and had stopped flapping his jaw soundlessly.

"Please, my dear boy," he preened. "There's no way your precious Broncos will recover from that. Twelve seconds into the second half and we've returned the kickoff for a touchdown. Game over."

"Wow, dude, you got possessive of the team you didn't care about two hours ago."

"Well, what can I say? Now that I am confident in my victory over you, I can safely terminate this phone call and change the channel to whatever I wish to see and still have a clear and easy conscience."

"Change the channel… what are you talking about? Why on earth would you change the… it's the Super Bowl…! Wait." Danny's face broke out into the most gleeful expression despite the fate that his newly adopted team was facing. "You're going to watch Downton Abbey, aren't you? Aren't you?"

Vlad spluttered. "What on earth are you talking about? I mentioned changing the channel as a possibility and suddenly you have it in your head that…"

"Dude," Danny interrupted. "You totally are with your tea and your… your… oh this is priceless. Priceless! Oh man," he began to laugh until he couldn't speak.

"For your information, Daniel, I am not planning on changing the channel or watching Downton Abbey. I plan on watching my team thoroughly trounce yours for the remainder of the night. And… stop laughing, I said!"

"Ahhaha, sure, yeah, okay, uh huh, totally not watching Downton Abbey. You can't fool me!" Danny continued chortling. "See ya, you fruit loop. Enjoy your period drama. Because even if Denver loses tonight, I have so totally won. Period. End of discussion. But," he added, wiping tears from his eyes. "Don't think that we're done discussing this…!"

And with that, he flipped the phone shut on an owlishly blinking billionaire.


End file.
